


Serene

by Alexistomalex



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexistomalex/pseuds/Alexistomalex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soft rain against a window, a sleeping friend, an old SNES on the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serene

**Author's Note:**

> This is an art trade with @cherrydragon from tumblr (a month and a half late because i suck) I hope you like it anyway :*

There is an old SNES on the floor, and a bunch of colorful comic books littered somehow both on and under the couch. The controller’s wires are all tangled up, one of them resting amidst the mess, the other against his lap, underneath his palm. For about half an hour now the screen has been reading ‘Game Over’, and something inside of him wants him to keep playing, a competitive streak he has been trying to suppress a little. But he doesn’t. Because his other hand is resting softly in his sleeping friend’s hair, and he would have to move in order to play, but he won’t, dammit. He just won’t wake him up. The rain clatters softly against the window, white noise like a melody, and he stays still with his sleeping friend resting on his thigh.

John is like a cat.

There is an old SNES on the floor, and a clutter of Deadpool comics, and if Eridan had been alone, he might have cleaned it up. Some ancient thing inside of him whispers that he doesn’t like video games, he doesn’t like super heroes. He smothers it. 

There are posters haphazardly pasted on the wall, in what could be quite an overwhelming display, but he is used to it now. There was a time when he would have made fun of John for that, he thinks, and he feels a little guilty about it. He remembers his friends from high school, he remembers being angry. They had not been nice kids. He had a lot of things to work through, and he never quite thought that he could do it. Instead he talked like he owned the world, and walked like he was trying to shake cities into the ground. His thumb rubs softly through john’s hair. He sighs. 

There is an old SNES on the floor, and even though he never quite found the deep love for video games that john has, he enjoys them a little more, now. He can kind of see the appeal. But mostly, he thinks, he plays them for John. 

Around the room are countless objects that he knows he would have mocked with his friends before, books, toys, the old SNES on the floor. A ploy to feel stronger. A way to shield himself.

But he knows what it is to sit in a room and to hate it. The tapestry, the carpet, the lamps. To feel like a stranger at home, to have the world grate against your skin, unknowingly, slowly, until to walk through the doors makes you feel sick.

This isn’t it.

This is nice.

He doesn’t know yet how to let go of his pride, he doesn’t know how to talk and make things work. Sometimes he forgets that his words can burn gashes through people, and he tries to rein them in, but he doesn’t always get it. Sometimes he still boils inside, and he feels like the little kid he used to be, alone and angry.

But there is an old SNES on the floor, a bunch of comics, frankly, everywhere, the calming sound of the rain against the glass, and John, soft John, sleeping on his lap.

And he thinks that if he hasn’t quite gotten it right yet, maybe that’s ok.

He breathes, and lets the screen ‘Game Over’ him, serene.


End file.
